


no pride, no shame

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also Blood, Angst, It's bad, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), POV Third Person, Self Harm, Unhappy Ending, copious amounts of crying, it's short and it's bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loneliness is a bitter pill to swallow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no pride, no shame

The young Ampora's friends-- _acquaintances_ , rather, he corrects, lip curling in bitter disgust, would be unsurprised to find that this had all started out as another of his failed bids for attention. He sneers at the ceiling from where he lies, hating the despicable classless brinesuckers he can hardly believe he'd wasted his time on, hating the world, hating himself, hating whatever twisted, hideous deity had allowed him to be conceived from the Mother Grub's great incestuous slurry in the first place. He remembers wondering not so long ago if perhaps his existence was a mistake, but fuck if he doesn't know better now. No, his life is some great big cosmic joke, a never-ending series of failures and painful denial some hideous, sadistic deity is probably creaming its god-pants to at this very moment, or something. Fuck.

Metaphors are moronic anyway.

His clothes stick to his skin, slick with sweat and blood and he knows he's going to have to burn this shirt because those stains are never coming out, and he smells something like yesterday's garbage. Possibly the worst thing of all is how little he actually _cares_. Not enough to bother changing, that was for certain. Maybe he's turning into Karkat, he thinks, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards for barely an instant, because his next thought is how horrified his past-self would be to see him like this.

His arms still sting from where he'd raked his claws down them over and over and over, further marring his already scarred grey flesh. The blood he'd been oh-so proud of a lifetime ago is dried, peeling, and practically caked onto his arms and shirt. What a travesty.

Skyhorsedad would've broken his door in at the smell of it, had he been here, but the door to his respiteblock was wide open, and the old man has been dead and gone for perigees.

Eridan has been alone for perigees.

For whatever reason it's that thought that breaks him, leaving pale tears streaking down his face as he tries -- _desperate, sobbing_ \-- to wipe them away, the heel of his hand pressing up against his eye so hard he thinks it's going to bruise. Pain is good, he thinks, it grounds him. Without it, sometimes he can't remember if he's real or not.

The thought that he's losing himself is far more comforting than it should be. His smile is more of a grimace, baring teeth stained violet from where he'd chewed his lips to veritable shreds.

Eridan's laugh is hollow, empty, and so is he.

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry jfc


End file.
